


Your Majesty's Bed

by Astoria Gracewell (arh581958)



Series: #MalecWeek [10]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Day 3 - Back to the Middle Ages, M/M, Malec, Malec Week, Malec Week 2017, Old customs, Prince!Alec, Royalty, Sharing a Bed, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:53:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Astoria%20Gracewell
Summary: Custom dictates that members of the Royal Family must take a bedwarmer by the age of sixteen--to help ease the bitter cold winter nights. Alec has managed to elude getting one for the past two year. Although, this year, his luck might have finally run out.





	Your Majesty's Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **MalecWeek2017 Day 3** \- _Back to the Middle Ages_
> 
> Medieval people used warming pans, made of metal and filled with coal, to heat up the space between the sheet during harsh winters. This was common practice especially in more affluent social classes. However, what is not common, and completely made up by my kinky imagination, are bedwarmers--people, often from a lower class (usually peasants from border villages).

As a general rule, those of the royal family must be gifted by a bed-warmer on their sixteenth birthday. One that would stay in their beds to help warm the chilly nights. It’s a custom long created. Firewood has become scarce over the years. The royal family has given a portion of their share to their. Their generosity comes at a price. With each passing night, the castle grows colder. Winter approaches steadily as the seasons of spring, summer, and fall pass.

Evade

Alexander Lightwood, first born son and first in-line to the thrown, has seen eighteen winters but has yet to choose a bed warmer.

“Autumn has befallen us. Leaves grow orange everyday. _Alexander_ —Alec, my boy—I urge you to take a warm body to your bed for the upcoming winter. The angels have warned us of the though months ahead,” the King, his father, said. “Even your sister and adoptive brother have already taken theirs. Why must you insist on this mindless stubbornness?”

Alec bit his lip to keep from lashing out. Some customs are better off discarded. His parents _both_ had bed warmers sharing their conjugal bed. At the height of winter, sometimes more than one. His younger sister, Isabelle, chose a young girl from the border villages while his adoptive brother, Jace, opted for a young scholar from the main town. Max, their youngest, is the only one without a bed warmer. At the tender age of nine, he has the comforts of his nursery mates to warm the nights.

 _Because it didn’t feel right to enslave a fellow human_ , Alec thought bitterly. “I am perfectly warm in my chambers, Father. I have adequate firewood.”

“Alexander!” The Queen, his mother Maryse, snapped. For all her elegance and grace, she possesses the ferocity a hundred warriors on her tongue. “Cease your selfishness. Every log that goes into your chambers is a log omitted from our people. I cannot—will not—let our subjects suffer because you refuse to follow custom. Get a bed warmer. Choose one, or Robert and I will choose one for you.”

“Those warming your beds are _people_! I will not subject no human to the prison of my bed. I am the crown prince of Idris, and my chambers are mine to govern.” Alec stands then stops off, his dinner half eaten.

Jace, who sat by Alec’s side, rises up to follow.

“Don’t,” Maryse warns. “Let him thick about his choices. He is, as he says, the crown prince. There must come a time wherein Alexander will choose duty over his sensibilities.”

***

Each day that passes without anyone breathing a word nor whisper about a bed warmer makes Alec slowly grow optimistic. Perhaps his mother has come around or his father had a change of wishes. Whichever one it may be, Alec counts it as a blessing. His says fill with princely duties—training with the knights, studying his texts, and learning the customs of their border neighbors. In his free time, Alec trains with his favorite weapon in their armory—a bow carved from the husk of a wild mammoth. 

“Unhand me!” A loud yell, followed by an even more powerful explosion, turns the normally peaceful citadel into utter chaos. Women and children, the peddlers and shop keepers, and the kept animals scampers in fright.

“Help! Help!“

Guards have flocked to area. Two platoons of them converge near the broken fountain. It looks as if a cannon ball has pierced through a portion of the fountain’s outer ring but no heavy met ball nor crater could bee seen. In the midst of the scuffle, half a dozen heavily armed men surround new wooden pillory. Unlike the old one, this pillory had brass locks instead of metal—a peculiar choice.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alec demands from one of the guards.

“Sire!” The highest ranked of the men answers him. “It’s a warlock, sire, we caught him loitering around the outer walls. It’s an attack, sire, the down Downworlders are preparing for an attack and they’ve set this spy to hide amongst us.”

Alex looked back at the man. The captive seems like an ordinary man, from another land perhap, but he bares none of the markings if a creature born with magic. So many rumors about the Shadowland uprising have all the villagers skittish with every whisper. Alec’s seen too man unjust floggings and useless witch hunts.

“What proof have you to accuse him this?”

“The fountain, sire.” A guard pointed to the broken cobblestones. “He blew up the foundation with his magic!”

“His eyes blazed like the devil!” Another added.

“Ask the people, sire. Witnesses all of them.” A third guard added. On so, more of their words came pouring out like a waterfall—so much and yet so very little use.

Alec shook his head. This all would be useless. None if these men are trained to identify magic. He needs the help of the high priestess.

***

For as long as Alec could remember, the high-priestess has served since the time his grandfather, and probably their great grandfather before him. She retains her youthful beauty to this day, a woman looking no older than thirty. She’s a powerful warlock with an allegiance to their bloodline. Her reasons are all her own. No one’s dared to know.

They bring the captive to her tower temple in the west tower. Twenty more guards escort the first six. Jace, as the commander of the knights, joins them as well.

“Where are you taking me?” The prisoner asks.

Jace glared at him. “Silence, or I shall keep you quiet myself.” He raises up the wooden torch to the guy’s face. “Warlock or not, no one escapes holy fire. Are you willing to test it?”

“Jace!” Alex reprimands. “Stop playing the fool. You’re a knight not a scoundrel. He is innocent until we can prove otherwise.”

Jace pulls back the flame, frowning. “Are you sure about this, Alec? We’re bringing _it_ to the inner sanctum.”

“Have faith in our priestess, Jace. Her power is more than you imagine.”

“Ahh, yes,” the guy cuts in again. “Just who exactly are we meeting again?”

They reach the temple doors, with its handles decorated with ruby stones. Inside is a hall of wonder for tall plants line the walls, ivy wraps around columns, and a small fountain of water sits in the middle. A large archway opens directly to the balcony which frames the inner city like a painting.

“Who dares disturb the high priestess?” Her voice echoes darkly from wall to wall, bouncing. All the guards start cowering in fear. “The weak shall leave.” She orders all of the unworthy gone until only Alec, Jace, and the captive remain. Out from behind the curtain of orchids, Tessa walls out to greet them.

“Hello, Magnus.”

Alec and Jace are both surprised.

“Hello, Tessa,” the prisoner, Magnus, says with a smug tone. “Fancy meeting you here, _Madame High Priestess_ , and stealing my line from me! I should’ve known! Whether I be annoyed or honored, I am mot quite sure yet but they _do_ say that imitation is the best form of flattery. We all thought you’d be dead by now. Seems are though you’re stronger than your dainty figure makes you look. Have these mortals not been feeding you?”

“Silence, you cretin,” says Jace, short-tempered as ever. “Show some respect to the high priestess!”

“Aww,” mockingly coos Magnus, “Dear Tessa, they’ve given you a pet name! Isn’t that sweet of the little mortal? What do you call your human, my dear? Pip? Bobby?”

Alec, as swift as lightning, raises his bow. Of everyone in the room, he points it directly at the high priestess.

“Alec, what are you doing?” Yet, even in uncertainty, Jace pulls out the hilt of his _adamas_ sword. The blade manifests in a burst of golden light. “I’ve been waiting to try this on a warlock for years! What’s the plan, brother dear, do we start killing them now?”

Alec keeps his eyes trained on the priestess. “You may have served since my great grandfather but mistake it not, witch, I will nit hesitate to shoot if you fail to give me answers. My arrows are made of rowan, the tip dipped on your own blood. Explain yourself.”

Tessa, the high priestess, in an uncharacteristic display of humanity, exhales loudly. It sounds more like a snort. With a wave of her hand, a chair made of ferns bloomed from the cracks between the stone floors. Magnus’ handcuff melt away. “My, my, it seems that it isn’t only your sister that inherited your mother’s temper.”

In response, Alec winds the bow tighter. “Test. Me. Not.”

“Very well,” she nods, “Magnus and I are… old friends. Magnus,  dearest,” she turns to the other warlock, pray tell, what _does_ bring you to Idris? Fr what I’ve heard Edom still retains it stronghold in the South. Why would you leave the safety if home behind?”

For all his earlier flamboyance, the warlock Magnus does not immediately speak. “I am seeking passage to the Mundane World.” That’s it, no further explanations.

“Satisfied, my prince?” Tessa turns to look at Alec, eyes staring straight at the arrow tip. Alec holds his bow steady. She waves her hand again, moth moving with inaudible words in a forgotten language, then smoke of in hues of punkish sunsets rise at Magnus’ feet. The male warlock starts coughing. “Answers, Magnus. Our friendship can only assure for survival for so long. I am… bound to their bloodline. I am sworn never to disobey.”

Magnus chokes on the air around him. “I—I—,” he takes a deep breath, fingers clutching his throat. Blue sparks come alive on his skin but it proves useless. Shadowhunters watch as the one warlock begs another for his life.

“Tessa,” he pleads, eyes rolling. “Please!”

Tessa pulls back her magic almost instantly, looking as if she was burned. She rises from her seat, if only to draw nearer, then stays completely still. Alec and Jace nearly step back but she starts to speak again. “Speak the truth, my friend, and I shall release you. What cause for you to travel to the Mundane World? What do you seek?”

“Herietta,” says Magnus quietly, “I simply seek safe passage out of the Shadow Realm. I am—my powers have grown weak with the journey north. These climates are not ideal. I am unable to summon a portal strong enough to cross worlds… not at my state.” He palms open with a small blue flame that flickers, and flickers, then dies. At that,

“What?” Jace asks, confused.

Alec answers him. “He’s an asylum-seeker, Jace,” he explains, “He speaks the truth. The high priestesses flame would have burned him otherwise—warlock or not.” He lowers his bow. “He’s an asylum seeker not a spy. We—we cannot in good faith lock him away. The Angel would give him shelter.”

Tessa nods her head in agreement. “That is right, my prince. Magnus here is _healing_ , magically. It will take at least four moons to heal his powers of their damage—a full winter. He will not survive outside. I can take him as a ward, my prince. Under my protection, he can help Catarina and I with the duties of the High Priestess.”

“The King will never have it!” Jace retorts. The seraph blade melts away, and he tucks it in his belt. “Give you another ward? People are already fearful that we have two warlocks in our keep. High priestess or not, there’s a way ravaging our southern borders. Adding another one of you, folk, will cause tensions to rise again. The warlock cannot stay with you as Catarina with our healers. Just, no. That’s preposterous!”

“And what alternative do you offer, Shadowhunter?” Tessa challenges with narrowed eyes. “I leave one of my oldest friends to wrestle with faith because you mortals are _afraid_? Selfishness! Pure human selfish—”

“I will take him,” Alec interjects. “I’ll take him as my bed warmer.”

**Author's Note:**

> My imagination seems to run wild whenever I imagine these two in castles--fighting dragons, ruling kingdoms, and without all the conveniences of the modern age. There's definitely more where this came from if I get inspired! 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).


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